1. Madelyn
I jolt awake, the nightmare I had still replaying like a broken record in my mind.
My body is shivering, a cold sweat covering me from head to toe.
I somehow manage to gulp down enough air to steady my breathing as I glance around the room, taking in all of my unfamiliar surroundings and trying to pinpoint where I am.
My new dorm room is still something I haven’t gotten used to, having only moved in a week ago. I still wake up every morning, half expecting to see old photographs of my best friend and I pinned on my vanity mirror, and the ugly curtains my mom found at a market hanging in my window.
It’s been three months since I ran. The reminder of what I’ve done is always in the back of my mind, weighing heavy on my chest. No matter how hard I try to get away from it, I can never truly escape.
I don't regret it, but I sometimes wish the outcome was a little less depressing.
My father wasn’t always an abusive man. I still remember all our happy moments together when I was a child. Him pushing me on the swings at the park, laughing together while we played games, and driving around in his nineteen-seventies Chevy Camaro that he loved more than anything.
I’ll never forget that car. It was a Mulsanne blue with black pinstripes that went across the top. An absolute beauty. He cherished that Camaro more than anything else, treating it as if it was the very reason he breathed.
I wanted nothing more than to be inside of it—to bask in the combined smell of its leather seats and my father's musky cologne.
The thought of it all comes wafting through my mind as I reminisce about my childhood, when things were simple and happy.
Before everything changed and became so cruel and devastatingly grim.
Before my mom decided to leave this Earth.
I try to keep my mind busy and not to think of all the shitty experiences I had with my father. But some days, the memories can’t be kept at bay and they invade my thoughts.
Every time his face assaults my memories, I try to focus on an image of my mother instead.
Her long, curly brown hair—the way she flipped it over her shoulder as she danced in the kitchen while making supper.
Her beautiful smile while we were baking cupcakes together.
She would always grab a dollop of frosting and dab it on my nose, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
I can still picture the way she used to look at me, like nothing else mattered. It was just her and I in those moments together, two girls making the best out of the shitty cards we were dealt.
My mother was the prime example of what a real parent should be. I miss her every single day, and while the memories of her bad days with my father linger, they serve to remind me that I did everything right the night I ran. If not for me, then certainly for her.
Blinking back tears, I roll over in bed, trying to shake the chill those haunting memories leave behind.
The positive recollections of my father will always be overshadowed by the disgusting things he’s done to us.
He was rotten to his core, a fucking despicable man, and everyone back home knew it.
They all turned a blind eye, never willing to do anything about it.
I don’t know how people were able to just sit back and watch the horrible things that happened to my mother, to me, and not intervene. The only person who ever tried to help, to be there for me, was Austin.
He was the only solace in my life after my mom died.
Austin lived down the dirt road, just a stone's throw away from my broken down home.
Our houses were the only ones around for miles, so naturally, we spent almost every waking moment together.
When we were young, we used to ride our bikes until the sun went down, or sit on his porch talking about everything and nothing at all.
Austin was one of those kids who was bullied a lot in elementary and junior high school.
His size seemed to be the butt of every joke—short and stocky, smaller than most of the boys in our grade, with a mountain of acne, and thick-rimmed glasses to correct his nearsightedness.
I never cared about the way he looked. He was my best friend, and I thought he was perfect the way he was.
The year we started high school, Austin had changed into someone I didn’t fully recognize. The summer before freshman year, he left for football camp in another state. Before that summer, he had never played football, but his father was tired of him being bullied for not being man enough.
Whatever that meant.
When Austin finally came home, he had grown an entire foot taller, lost all the extra weight, his skin had cleared up, and the thick glasses were replaced with contacts. He was a completely different person and I had a hard time believing this was the person I grew up with.
Soon after that, Austin became the new quarterback of the J.V.
team, and everybody who used to treat him terribly, was now a part of his new friend group.
He started running with the popular crowd, constantly trying to include me, but I couldn’t forget about all the things people had said about us.
I couldn’t just forgive because everyone else chose to forget.
All of these things eventually put a wedge between us.
Eventually, everything became harder for me.
Assholes who knew nothing about anything started talking, whispers constantly following me around like a shadow through the halls.
There were endless rumors being circulated about my father.
They were saying he killed my mother and how I would end up just like her, murdered by the hands of a man who was always supposed to love me.
The worst part wasn’t even hearing the awful rumors.
It was the blatant lack of remorse for the young girl whose mother was taken too soon.
No matter how hard I forced myself to try and ignore it, their words and behavior clung to me like a dark cloud.
Those kids never knew the full story. They weren’t even fucking close.
Finally getting out of bed, I slide on my slippers and tiptoe to my dresser.
I pull out a fresh set of clothes, careful not to wake my roommate, Gabby, and quietly slip out of our dorm room.
I don’t know much about her, but I’ve learned from the last few nights that she’s a heavy sleeper, and I’m thankful for it, because I’m the clumsiest person to ever exist.
Once I make it to the communal bathroom, I check my phone and see it’s four thirty in the morning.
My alarm was supposed to go off in thirty minutes, so I’m getting a head start by showering now and getting ready for my first day of class.
At the very least, that’s how I try to look at it now since I’m trying out this new “positive outlook on life” thing.
Which is going swimmingily, might I add.
I still struggle sometimes to take a shower. Flashbacks of my father ripping my mom out of the tub by her hair hits me like a punch in the gut, making my breath catch in my throat.
And here I was thinking a hot shower would do me good. Guess I was wrong.
These intrusive images hit me at all hours throughout the day, not just when I’m asleep.
I always wonder if my father is actually dead or if he’s going to appear around a bush like my own version of Michael Myers—but I saw the blood.
I watched his chest go still after I bashed his face in.
He’s gone, and I need to stop psyching myself out, or the people here are going to think I’m crazy, too.
After my shower, I quickly dress in my crop top, mom jeans, and slip on my favorite checkered vans.
I diffuse my curls with the new blow dryer I bought over the weekend, grateful to finally have decent hair again now that I have electricity and the right tools.
I’ve never really liked covering up my freckles, so I don’t bother putting any makeup on, only applying a thin layer of lip balm to my plump lips, and finishing my look with my round-rimmed glasses.
Checking the time on my phone, I blanch and start to pick up the pace. At this rate, I won’t be able to stop for coffee before my first class, and I can’t function without a proper dose of caffeine in my system.
I rush out of the bathroom, arms full of all my shower stuff, when my body slams into a hard chest. Everything I was carrying flies out of my arms, and crashes loudly to the floor. I swear I hear something break, and my mind is immediately on high alert.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guy says, trying to help me pick up all my belongings that are now scattered around our feet.
Fuck, I hope that cracking sound wasn’t my new blow dryer. That thing was so damn expensive, and I definitely can’t afford a new one.
“No, I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, gazing up at him.
My eyes instantly lock onto the most intense, arctic blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
His raven-colored hair is ruffled beautifully at the top of his head, as if he just rolled out of bed and headed out for the day perfectly like that.
A few strands of hair fall into his eyes, and he sweeps his fingers through them, combing them back into place.
My breath catches in my throat as he gives me a seductive, crooked grin. I’ve seen quite a few attractive guys in my life, Austin being one of them, but none of them hold a candle to whoever this guy is. He’s like a walking sex ad. He smells like one, too.
Damn.
His face is delicate, yet strong and chiseled, with perfectly clear, porcelain skin. His arms are completely inked in black and grey tattoos that travel all the way up to his neck. There’s enough ink to suggest a lifetime of stories, but he doesn’t look nearly old enough to have collected them all.
I realize I’m staring when he clears his throat, holds out his large hand, and says, “I’m Miles.”
That voice? Jesus Christ. Now he sounds like a sex ad.
“Madelyn.”
I take the hand he holds out for me, instantly gasping at his touch.
Heat slowly rises up my neck, painting my cheeks red with the sudden jolt of electricity I feel from the warmth of his skin.
I notice the exact moment he sees it because he chuckles and rubs his thumb across the back of my hand before he lets go.
Glancing back down at my belongings, I gather the rest of my stuff and clear my throat.
“Um, these are the girls' dorms. What are you doing over here?” I squeak out, the question spilling from my mouth before I can fully process what I’m asking.
The reality of why there would be a guy in a female-only dorm building finally registers in my mind, and I look up to Miles’ smirking face.
Before he can say anything, I stand and take a few steps back from where he’s still kneeling.
“Ignore me. Uh, thanks. For helping me grab my things.”
Miles stands, and I have to strain my neck to meet his gaze. He’s ridiculously tall compared to my short stature. Easily taller than Austin, and he’s six foot two.
Miles’ face turns serious as he studies mine, clearly trying to figure me out. My eyes watch as his glance down at my lips, causing me to inadvertently bring the bottom one between my teeth, completely enraptured by his intense stare.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around, Madelyn.”
I don’t know what it is about the way he says my name—how it rolls so effortlessly off his tongue—but I don’t think it has ever sounded hotter than it did just now.
Walking away, he turns around for only a moment, flashing a dreamy smile my way before rounding the corner, and disappearing.
The butterflies I feel from that smile alone could send me into an early grave, but I really shouldn’t be letting it get to me.
The last thing I need is to be getting involved with some guy I just met, especially considering all the baggage that haunts me.
When it comes to dating, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
After watching the way my mom was treated when I was younger, the thought of dating anyone became a daunting task I didn't even want to attempt. Plus, there were only a couple of times I was asked out, but the guys were either not genuine or not my type. Once they heard the rumors, I wouldn’t hear from them again anyway.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this right now.
I literally just ran into the guy, and now I’m over here thinking about dating as if it’s even a possibility.
He probably has a whole roster of girls he has on rotation, and I just don’t want to be involved with that.
The last thing I need is to catch feelings for someone and get let down.
Images of Austin’s heartbroken expression flood my mind, and suddenly I feel nauseous.
When I saw him last, he was pouring his heart out to me, practically begging me to finally be with him.
It killed me to reject him after such a vulnerable moment, but I just didn’t feel the same.
The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, but he was always meant to be just my friend, nothing more.
Leaving him the way I did hurt enough, but if he knew what I did to my father, he would probably be disgusted with me anyway.
Especially if he knew I wasn’t disgusted with myself, and that’s something I don’t think my heart could handle.
I’m a monster now, and there’s no way I would be able to drag Austin down with me. He’s too good.
If anyone here finds out about my life back home, I may never get the chance to move forward. If that means I need to be closed off, then that’s what I’ll do.